


these tears tell their own story

by NayaKatic



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, I'm really sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NayaKatic/pseuds/NayaKatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remembering comes in flashes. You close your eyes, and when you open them again, she’s sitting in front of you. She looks at you with a sparkle in her eyes, like nothing could make her happier than having you here with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these tears tell their own story

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first published work in English and first time I write for a fandom. I hope you'll enjoy it and I'm sorry for everything that happens. Title inspired by Sam Smith's Lay Me Down.
> 
> Huge thank you to bettymcraee and vintagecartinelli who proofed read the text and helped me with this thing. You guys are awesome.

Remembering comes in flashes. You close your eyes, and when you open them again, she’s sitting in front of you. She looks at you with a sparkle in her eyes, like nothing could make her happier than having you here with her. It makes your lips stretch into a smile and your hand reach out for hers. When she intertwines her fingers with yours, you feel like you could explode. You’re not used to being this happy and it scares you.

It scares you because you know what happens when you get too close. People get hurt, people die. Sometimes, people just give up and go because everything is too much. _You_ ’re too much. You can’t let yourself get attached. You know when to put distance between you and a person, when to stop your heart from reacting. You understand your emotions and how your body translates them. You have perfect control over both of those things.

Except when it comes to Angie Martinelli. You’re at a loss with her. It started with her being able to cheer you up after a terrible day and sharing sympathetic smiles. It went on with you moving in next to her and sharing schnapps and rhubarb pie while complaining about your day. It ended with you asking her to live with you in a mansion and basically sharing your life. The thing is, as much as you wanted to keep Angie at arm’s length, you can’t because she’s the one who taught you how to live when the only thing you were doing was survive.

She’s made you laugh when you thought all you were capable of doing was cry. She’s brought music back into your life and she’s danced with you to your own silent melody. She’s made you happy. 

And yet. 

You have a lingering feeling of sadness. You don’t know where it comes from because you don’t understand how you could be sad when Angie is sitting with you.

“Everything okay, English?”

Her voice is soft and her words remind you of evenings spent at the L&L, of stolen glances, pretending you weren’t only there for her company. It feels like yesterday, but that yesterday feels so long ago. You smile at her then, because she’s frowning now and you don’t want to worry her. 

There’s something out of place.

You don’t say anything.

“Everything is perfect, Angie.”

It isn’t, not really. You still feel your heart ache, like a piece of it is missing. You try and focus on Angie, the way her legs are curled up beneath her, her knees almost touching yours. Her hair is slightly mussed and the first button on her blouse is open. You’ve always liked this side of her. She’s laid back, sleepy and talks in whispers like she’s scared of disturbing the stillness around you.

Maybe that’s it. Everything is so still. 

That’s when you realise you don’t know where you are. If you look beyond Angie, you can’t see anything. It’s too bright and too dark. It’s something your eyes can’t get used to. As if sensing the growing fear inside you, Angie puts a hand on your cheek and brings your attention back to her. You’re happy. Angie makes you happy.

Except none of this is real.

Angie’s hand feels cold against your face. You’re still holding hands, and while your grip is strong, hers is barely holding on. She feels like sand slipping through your fingers, like time passing and moments lost in the past. 

The sadness is now comfortably sitting in the pit of your stomach, refusing to move. It makes you sick. How could you forget? How could you forget Angie and the way your lives were so intimately bound together? She moves then, coming closer. She wraps her arms around your neck.

“Remember the last time you held me like this, English?” she asks and of course you remember. It’s the only thing you remember clearly these days. She gets back then, still holding your shoulders with her hands.

“Life has a funny way of working, doesn’t it?” She scrunches up her face like she used to do when confused or disgusted by something or someone. It’s the most adorable thing you have ever seen and you can feel your face soften and yourself relax at the familiar sight.

“I wouldn’t exactly use the word funny. More like, heartbreaking or plain rude, if you ask me.”

She chuckles and your heart breaks a little bit more. “I miss you. You and your proper englishness.” 

_I miss you._

Those are the words that break you. As much as you try to forget, reality inevitably crashes down on you. It’s suffocating, it’s too much and not enough. Without Angie by your side, nothing is enough. It’s like almost tasting something beautiful, barely grazing it with your lips before it disappears. You remember Steve, your shared kiss and all the what ifs running through your mind once he was gone. Except, with Angie, you only went as far as a kiss on the cheek that felt daring at the time.  
It feels ridiculous now.

What would have been daring was tell her how you felt. Stop hiding behind the huge metaphorical wall around your heart and be brave enough to own up to your feelings. Losing Steve has made you wary of feelings though. You’re scared of loving again, giving yourself completely to someone who would then have all the power to break you, intentionally or not. Angie had that power, even though you never told her. She had no idea of the hold she had in your heart. 

“I wish I had told you how I felt, Angie.”

“Me too.” Angie drops her hands to her lap and looks down. It’s like she doesn’t want to see the guilt in your eyes. She shrugs then, tries to find the words that will maybe appease you.

“It’s not your fault, Pegs. I wasn’t careful, just like my cousin Ralphie. It’s a Martinelli malediction, it seems.”

You let out a watery laugh because that’s such an Angie thing to say. Try to make light of a heavy situation. You know it’s not your fault, but maybe it is. Maybe if you had talked to her longer that morning she would have gone out later, maybe if you had hugged her like you wanted to, maybe if you had kissed her like you were dying to. Anything to keep her a little longer with you, alive.

It was a stupid accident. Nothing to do with you or your secret life. It wasn’t a russian spy looking for revenge or for a way to get to you. It was careless driving, poor life decisions and Angie being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s nothing you could have done. Except maybe hold on longer. Hold her longer.

Focusing back on Angie, you realise she’s not real. She’s a fragment of your imagination, a way for your mind to cope with the loss of her. 

Still. You want to hold on to her. Except she’s not holding back.

Inevitably, you blink back to reality. Your throat is dry, your whole body aches. There's a faint sensation of cold on your cheek and it confuses you. Everything is hazy. You can't tell the difference between what was once real and what was just a dream. 

Remembering comes in flashes. Like lightning, they come and they go.


End file.
